I will tears to stop through biology, geometry, and literature, but when It's time for Zuhr salah, I quickly snatch the namaz rug from my locker and dash outside to pray. I settle myself near several trees and position towards the Qiblah, a lump on my throat becoming bigger each second. Finally, I raise my hands. "Allahu-Akbar." I recite Surat Fatiha and Surat Asr. I go into rukooh, and then, while I'm in prostration, the tears start spilling out.
| I never wanted him to like me. I was only eating lunch one day and he came up behind me and sneered "Jihadi-" And before I could turn around, Kyle snatched my hijab and retorted something like "I bet you're bald" and whispered some unsavory words, pulling it off my head before I could make a grab for it. That's when time seemed to stop and I felt cold air blasting through my hair, when the cafeteria burst into gasps and awes. "Wow," he murmured. I tried taking back my scarf, but he held it away and caressed my hair up for all to see. "You're even more hotter than I ever imagin-" I lost it into a wave of sobs and chokes. "Shut up! Just shut up!" I half shrieked, getting even shriller each millisecond. "Just give me back my-" And that's all I remembered before fainting away. |
I open my eyes. I'm still in sujood. I quickly get up and finish the last of my salah. Break's already been over, and I bet History started about ten minutes ago. I dash to class. "Sorry I'm late Mr.Robin." I stammer, panting and shuddering at the same time. He looks at me quizzically, hand holding an Expo marker in mid air holding a teacher's handbook. "Why hello. You're late. Rani, what happened to your--" His Russian accent drawled off and I realize I'd not only interrupted his lesson, but the whole class as well. I shuffle my feet. "I'm sorry, Mr.Boy Wond- I mean, Mr.Robin, I have allergies. Pardon. Ahem. Here's my homework." I awkwardly reach down and lay my 'report' on his desk, then slumped down to mine, eyes directed towards the ground so I could avoid staring faces and stifled laughs. I sat like a stack of jell-o, unsupported and dependent, then quickly refocused my mind and gathered towards the lesson. The session drowned through my ears as if I were underwater. Someone gets up to sharpen her pencil and drops a folded post-it-note on my desk. It's bright blue hue catches my attention. I open it up seeing:
R U OK?
- B
I grin a watery grin, the kind you give to people saying ' Oh, yeah, I'm fine.' But you're having a total mental breakdown inside. As Bushra passes by my desk, I turn the back of the post-it-note and write:
YA. Talk 2 U L8R. FTR SCHUL. WALK HOME W/ ME.
-R
and hand it to her before she sits back down.
YOU ARE READING
Just Another American
ChickLitYoung Muslim American girl Rani faces the struggles of being strong in her faith while enduring harsh judgments about her religion. Rani tries to keep the two problems at bay, but the chance is either or.
